Chapter 4

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Karita." Marty Hammer, the sweetest boss on earth, beamed at her from under two of the bushiest eyebrows she'd ever seen. Even after more than a year working for Marty, she still found them adorable. "Are you sure you don't want to take the paralegal training?"

"Quite sure," she answered. "I may not know what I want to be when I grow up, but I'm pretty sure what I don't want to be, which is working eighty hours a week. I'm happy with my schedule as it is."

"You do all that volunteer work, and I admire that." He gave her a fatherly look. "But there's your future to think about, princess."

She patted his hand as he leaned on the counter that framed the reception desk. "Money isn't everything."

"No," he agreed readily. "It's just most things."

Thankfully, a messenger tromped in with another package for one of the attorneys and Marty headed for his office without suggesting she meet yet another of his nephews, cousin's sons or a wealthy client's spare heirs. She appreciated his concern, but the time just hadn't been right to tell him she was looking for a princess, not a prince. She felt bad about that, too. The day she'd interviewed with him she'd sensed he was a good, honest man. Her intuition told her to be truthful, but Colorado was far more conservative than Minnesota. Plus her faith in human beings had been sorely tested by Mandy and she'd erred on the side of caution.

Once she'd not said "I'm gay" to the first blind date he'd offered, how did she suddenly admit it at the offer of the fourth or fifth? See what happens when you're not honest up front? The Brents of the world take you out for coffee, and because people think you're attractive enough to catch a man, they presume you don't have one because you don't know how to find and kiss your own frogs.

A pox on the closet. The world ought not be this complicated over the matter of love.

It was just a bit vexing, too, to remember that woman at Gracie's—CJ. She'd seemed charming, but obviously was out for just one kind of experience. In some ways, Emily was right. Their occasional night together did keep her from taking chances on other women. If hit-and-runs like CJ were her alternative, as far as she was concerned, those nights with Emily were keeping her from making big mistakes. Emily, at least, was someone she respected and cared about, someone who believed that one person could make a difference. She would think of CJ as a frog—that would do it. The last thing she needed was another disastrous, soul-crushing experience with a woman for whom money wasn't a means, but an end. She wasn't going to be anyone's accessory, a piece of pretty jewelry for show-and-tell. CJ was a frog that all the kissing in the world wouldn't change.

Her phone chirped and she tapped it.

"Karita, sweetie, there's no air in conference one. Could you be a doll—I never can remember that code."

Speaking of frogs, Karita thought. "Sure, I'll punch it in for you. You should feel it in just a few minutes."

The honeyed tones in her ear went away and Karita quickly keyed in the conference room's HVAC setting from her computer. Brent returned from lunch while she was occupied on a call, but she responded to his distant smile with a cheerful one of her own. He was still not quite over her "thank goodness we can be friends" speech. The messenger arrived on schedule to pick up all the paperwork going to the courthouse so far, and, from her perspective, everything was tidy.

The smile she gave Susan House, who left for the day shortly before three, was not nearly so cheerful as the one she had shared with Brent. If she had her druthers, someone like the grand dame Susan House would feel a great deal of heat, and for a very long time. If Susan weren't Marty's brother's widow she'd have probably been fred over the way she could go off on people, especially her last assistant. Most people seemed to think that insults and invective were part of some kind of necessary hazing to become a lawyer, but Marty didn't behave that way. When he was unhappy he could make it very clear without resorting to foul language and personal attacks.

Nevertheless, Karita was pretty sure she was the only one who knew that Susan had slept with the poor girl, too, and getting seduced by your boss was not in the lawyer-training handbook. Pam had been the one person at work to suspect Karita was gay after they'd spotted each other at the Tattered Cover in front of the LGBT books section. A few days later Pam had been summarily dismissed after a classic Susan House tirade. That glance in the bookstore was probably why Pam had told Karita about the affair while Karita helped her carry her things to her car the day she was fred.

"I told her if she wanted to break it off, I could handle it," Pam had said between sobs. "She said she treated me like shit so no one could accuse her of favoritism. Suddenly it's my work deserved all that criticism. All I did today was misplace a file for fifteen minutes, and then I found it. It was on her desk the whole time."

Standing at Pam's car, holding one of the two small cartons of her personal items, Karita hadn't known what to say that might comfort. She'd overheard some of the things Susan had called Pam, words that could cut a smart, ambitious woman like real knives. It wasn't fair.

Sighing, Karita tried to stop stewing about Susan House. She made a note to herself to call Pam and see how she was doing, though. It had been a week since she'd been fred, and Pam probably felt like she didn't have a friend left in the world.

Unlike the paralegals, Karita closed up her desk promptly at five thirty, forwarded her switchboard to night greetings voice mail and headed out into the warm night. The heat was receding, however, and at home the temperatures would be comfortable with cool evenings over the weekend.

She avoided the freeway out of habit and stubbornness, instead taking the route into the foothills that was both scenic and fun to drive. A quick stop in Morrison for her favorite gyro and lemonade sherbet filled the empty pit in her stomach, then she resumed her journey toward home and her evening plans. For twenty minutes the gently curving road climbed steadily, passing through thick spruce-fr forests and exposed granite scrub. Her spirits elevated along with the roadway, until the final curve nearest home presented a vista of craggy cliffs above and below the highway. To the west the green-crusted foothills seemed like hundreds of children gathered close to the knees of dozens of strong, white-haired grandmothers who in turn linked their arms in a protective embrace for as far as she could see.

She loved it here, loved everything about the sunshine, the snow, the eons-deep green and rock, and the self-reliant people. Mother Nature expected a lot at this altitude, but gave back unstinting beauty. Yes, she thought, she had all she wanted. By the time she pulled into the parking lot of the animal rescue in Kittredge she was ready for some real puppy love.

"Girl, you are just in time." Nann, her freckles standing out from pale skin in testament to a long, tiring day, handed her a heavy bucket of dry dog food and a scoop. "I think I've found a placement for both of those malamutes before they eat us out of house and home. I've fed the big birds and that mountain lion, but I hadn't gotten around to feeding the back kennel yet."

"I'll do it, no problem. Any new critters today?" Karita's nose twitched from the sharp tang of disinfectant and odor-killer. The converted building had once been a bakery, with a storefront for display and several large rooms in the rear. Karita knew from experience that the calm of the long, narrow reception area didn't begin to reflect the chaos behind the doors to either side of them.

Nann quickly retwisted her brilliant red ponytail. "We got some overflow out of the wildfire north of Golden Gate Canyon, but only three scorched marmots. Lost pets include two cats out of the wildfire zone and a pup discovered at Little Bear that's so filthy I don't know what it is."

"I'll do the bath after the feeding."

Karita went about the basic chores that Nann needed help with, clucking to the kittens and puppies, scratching a proffered head through the cage when she could, and murmuring the simple little charm her grandmother had taught her for hopeful situations. All these creatures deserved a loving home and maybe they'd find one. Animal rescue could be very depressing, but it had its rewards, too. Just like working with people, she thought.

There was also no money in it, so she took her pay in the form of licks, purrs and wagging tails. Some people unwound in front of the television, but she found feeding the critters extremely relaxing—not even conversation was required. The day she had stopped in with a wounded and half-frozen pygmy owl she'd found tangled in a fence had been a very good day indeed. She and Nann had hit it off immediately, and the shelter was only a mile from her little house on Bear Creek.

The new dog looked as if it had been left to die in a pool of oily mud, but it didn't act injured. Had it seemed unwell, Nann would have reluctantly sent it on to Animal Control, where its fate would have been quickly decided. There were gleaming brown eyes underneath the muck and it—she, rather—was very docile. No tags or ear tattoo, but until recently she had obviously worn a collar.

Patience combined with gentle, pest-killing shampoo revealed a brown coat that curled tightly, once dry, and nothing worse physically than malnutrition, worn footpads and general shock. Nann would check ears and nose and so forth, but they looked clean to Karita, and the dog was mercifully free of ticks and fleas. For a large dog, it had a lean, light frame. The right rear leg was shorter than the others, but that was probably a birth defect. She suspected it was a mixed breed, and it obviously wasn't show quality. Someone's well-loved and well-cared-for pet had gone astray, no doubt about it. It happily ate some dry food from her hand and licked her fingers very thoroughly.

She put her nose to the dog's for just a moment and whispered a few phrases of Gran's Elvish, then added, "If you don't have a home you're coming home with me."

Nann leaned in the doorway of the shampoo room. "You've got the girl looking so much better."

"She's an old girl." Karita gently ruffed the soft ears. "Maybe she got dumped because of some big vet bills. She seems too sensible to run away from home."

Nann stooped to join in the petting, eliciting a hearty tail thumping on the wet tile. Animals went euphoric around Nann, and Karita had seen more than one woman do the same. "I'd be surprised if she got dumped, because I think she's a doodle."

"A doodle," Karita echoed. "Okay, you got me. What's a doodle?"

"Specifically, this looks like a cocoadoodle." Nann's fingers explored the dog's chest in the guise of more scratching. "A cross between purebreds—a labrador and a standard poodle. If her coat was more gold, she'd be a standard poodle and golden retriever mix—a goldendoodle. All the positive traits of the people-loving breeds combined with a poodle's low-allergen count. Oh, aren't you sweet, yes, you're a doll," she cooed. The dog's noises of ecstasy grew louder.

"So, she's probably valuable."

"Not in the sense of breeding stock, not with the leg. Doodles aren't accidents, though, and they are great family pets. She's so comfortable with being handled, I'd say this lovely old girl has a wonderful home, and if we hit the local breeder sites with a photo we'll get the word out in time to find her family."

"Oh," Karita said, deeply pleased, "a happy ending."

"Yeah. We get them sometimes. And those malamutes have also gone to their new home. It's a good week." Nann leaned closer to let the doodle lick her face. It did so with such alacrity that Karita was surprised that Nann's abundance of freckles didn't come off. "You are pure love, oh yes you are."

Pure love, Karita thought, as she drove home a few hours later. You could get that from a dog more reliably than from people. Her hands still smelled of the lavender gel she'd applied to the doodle's curls, and she'd left Nann posting notes to the local breeders. Happy endings—it had been another good day indeed.

The Subaru's tires thumped over the bridge shared by the dozen or so small houses on this stretch of Bear Creek. Though it hadn't flooded since she'd moved in, she'd been warned that finding herself trapped on one side of the creek or the other was a possibility in the spring. Douglas fir and blue spruce crowded along the bank, but were more sparse around the homes and outbuildings, leaving room for sunlight to warm the yards. She looped up the driveway to her own little house. The garage door opener didn't work and the doors stuck, but it was all hers, courtesy of her grandmother's will.

Though it was August, the night temperatures up the mountain made evening fires not uncommon, and she loved the hint of wood smoke in the air. She paused for a moment before pulling the garage door down, gazing up at the diamond canopy of stars over her head. Gran would have said that night was a black veil the angels dropped to let God's creatures get some rest from the glory of heaven. The stars, Karita, my little elf, she'd say, were just holes poked in by the angels so nobody worried that heaven had disappeared.

She made her way through the utility room and into the kitchen, pausing to smooch her index finger and press the kiss to a photo of her parents, timelessly caught with baby Karita on their laps. After she'd tossed a load of laundry into the washing machine and brewed a nice cup of peppermint tea, she cuddled on the old divan under a light throw. At this altitude the night air was delightful. A great deal of it came in around the windows, however, which was a source of concern.

She selected solo flute music for her evening, read a little more of a slow but interesting mystery, then made a list of the things she needed to do tomorrow. Replacing the washer on the kitchen faucet was a priority and she was going to try her hand at weather-stripping. The little house wasn't very tight—it had originally been somebody's summer home away from Denver's heat and crowds. Gran's sister had bought it several decades ago, left it to Gran, and Gran had last visited it some ten to twelve years ago, when she'd inherited it. Now people lived in the neighborhood year ‘round and Kittredge was considered not a bad commute into Denver. Neglect had taken its toll on the structure, though. Last winter she'd occasionally had to break ice on dishes left in the kitchen sink.

After a quick, hot shower, she pulled on an old soft T-shirt and made one last cup of tea. She liked living here, very much. Maybe they should have moved here when Gran had inherited the place, getting Gran out of the humidity of Minneapolis and into dry air and the three hundred days of sunshine a year. It would have been better for her lungs, maybe.

If they'd moved here so many things would have been different. She might have liked college more here, instead of giving up midway, cashing out with a two-year degree and joining up with the Peace Corps. If she'd been home she might have realized Gran's health was failing, but instead she'd been off teaching basic English in Vietnam. She certainly wouldn't have been on that stretch of crowded freeway when a beautiful, accomplished businesswoman was fiddling with her cell phone instead of keeping her eyes on the road. Had they moved here she'd have never met Mandy over a fender bender. She'd never have mistaken an accident for fate at work.

Well, it just sucked that whenever she was in a quiet place lately, thoughts of Mandy cropped up. What was that about? She chased her tea with a chocolate wafer, brushed her teeth and tumbled into bed, glad of the flannel sheets and down comforter.

She'd gone quite a while without thinking about Mandy, what with the move, finding a new job and the absorption of her time spent at the shelter and the rescue. It had taken a while to get settled, to feel like her life had a rhythm that made sense. She had everything arranged just as she liked. So why was Mandy popping into her head?

Emily would say Karita was classifying memories and letting them go, a useful coping skill. It didn't feel all that useful. At the moment it hurt quite a lot. She'd seen cruelty and viciousness in the world. She'd joined the Corps to try to change some of it. Bad people did bad things. Evil came from hate. Good people did good things, and nothing bad ever came from love. She had loved Mandy. So she hadn't believed Mandy had meant her ultimatum, not at first

"Gran could die while I'm traveling with you," Karita had explained as they had drifted in the afterglow of passion. The safety and comfort of Mandy's arms had helped ease the ache in her heart after the talk she'd had that morning with Gran's doctor. "She took me in when I was two, and gave me everything she could. I can't leave her now that the doctors say the time is so short." She had been certain Mandy would understand the need to postpone the trip.

But Mandy had gotten out of bed, saying, "If you loved me, you'd go."

For a moment the words just didn't make sense, as if Mandy had lapsed into a foreign language. Karita had lain there, her face still smelling of Mandy, of lovemaking, and struggled to decipher the words. "Are you saying that I have to choose? Between my love for you and my love for my grandmother?"

"You said I was the most important thing in your life. If you're backing out of our vacation after all that planning, it doesn't sound like I come first to you." Mandy kept her back turned as she pulled on her bathrobe.

Still not sure she understood, Karita had repeated, "Are you asking me to choose between my love for you and my love for my dying grandmother? Who has maybe two months to live? Are you saying you won't wait, that you'll go without me? You can't wait two months to see Switzerland so I can take care of something I need to do? I don't understand."

She still didn't understand. Karita played the bitter scene over in her head, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong. How could love, all that love, have been based on misperceptions? Had they been doomed from the start because they both wanted the other to be someone she wasn't? If Mandy had understood who Karita was, she'd have known without a doubt that Karita would see her grandmother through to the end. If Mandy had been the woman Karita had thought she was, Mandy would have respected no other choice. But the Mandy standing there with that cold, stony look on her face, her hair still mussed from sex, had turned into a stranger.

Mandy had watched Karita get dressed, saying nothing.

"I'm only asking for two months," Karita had finally said. "I love you. But being there for Gran is the only right thing to do."

"I was looking forward to introducing you to so many people. We make such a beautiful couple. And you're not a home health nurse. I don't see how you can help."

"I'm not talking about just nursing her. I'm talking about reading to her, holding her hand, reminding her of happy times. Being there."

"I need you to be there for me. You've been really distracted lately and I had a feeling you were going to bail on me, just like everybody else."

Pulling the covers up to her chin, Karita tried to turn off the movie in her head before it got to the bitter end. Even now the loss brought tears to her eyes. But her brain wouldn't cooperate and she could hear herself inviting Mandy's final blow.

"If you thought I was going to bail on you, what was tonight about?" She had gestured at the bed.

Mandy had shrugged. "It'll be hard to find someone as enthusiastic as you are. You might be a fake, but you're great in bed."

Even the most casual encounters in the Corps hadn't made Karita feel as cheap as she had at that moment. She had exhaled as if she'd been punched in the stomach and said, without thinking, "Some elf I turned out to be."

Mandy had laughed. Worse even than the broken heart was Karita's broken faith that nothing cruel could ever come from anything offered or received with love, and Mandy had shattered every bit of that faith by saying, "And you know what? That elf thing is really stupid. You need to grow up."

She had numbly gathered her things and believed that in the morning Mandy would have thought it over. Instead, a messenger with a box had arrived, and in it were her pajamas and the contents of the drawer she'd had in Mandy's dresser, her toothbrush, her shampoo.

She dried an errant tear on the pillowcase. She knew in her heart that caring for Gran through her final days had been the grown-up thing to do. She was not a fake for thinking so. The last words Gran had spoken that made sense had been, "Karita, my elf, you're a good girl."

It had been a beautiful lie to tell a little girl who badly needed to believe something in her life was special. Even when part of her accepted her elven status was no more real than the Tooth Fairy, little Karita, deep inside, had gone on cherishing the idea that she could do just a little bit of magic. Mandy's derision of that innocent hope tarnished it. Though she was content with her life, was doing the things she loved and thought important, she could still hear fake. Truthfully, when Marty fussed at her about her future it felt like he, too, thought she was headed in the wrong direction with her life.

She burrowed her head into the pillow and consciously put Mandy out of her thoughts by thinking about the events of her day. People she'd coaxed a smile from, the animals she'd nurtured. Recollections of the soft fur and liquid eyes adoring every moment with her chased Mandy away, at least for the rest of the night.

If the lovely doodle dog had a family it would be another happy ending. Happy endings were real. It also meant her magic streak would be intact—so far every animal she'd promised to take home had been quickly claimed or adopted out. So maybe she wasn't an elf, but that didn't mean magic couldn't happen. The Mandys and what-was-her-name—the CJs of the world— they were the Assassins of Magic, and she was avoiding them all from now on.

"Now that's a downpour," Burnett said, watching CJ shake water off her umbrella.

"You can say that again. We got through touring the site just in time. Thank goodness for the Trailblazer's four-wheel drive or we'd still be stuck in the mud. It's in the upper eighties out there, too. I'll be glad when September gets here."

"Yeah, but after September comes October. Blizzards, snow, shoveling, that sort of thing."

CJ, looked up from wiping off her handbag to give Burnett a sour look. "And your point is?"

"My point is that I'd really like your advice on a client. Do you have time?"

"Sure." She fished in her handbag for her BlackBerry and pulled out an unfamiliar bundle of papers—damn, the stuff from traffic court, and it was two days later. Tick tock, she thought, she had to get in touch with one of these groups right away. She kept the papers out of sight, though. No reason to advertise her brush with the law. "Jerry's not available?"

"Um, I, well, I want to be lead on this."

"Got it." The kid wanted help, but he didn't want whatever connection he was working to get taken away from him so he ended up with a lowly co-commission again. Jerry would steal the contact. She wasn't sure it was a good thing that the kid thought she wouldn't. She dug in her bag again. "Hang on just a minute."

She hurried out to Tre's desk with a copy of a Vietnamese community newspaper she'd run across coming out of her meeting this morning. "I'm sorry it got wet. I went by color of the masthead. This is the one that's the new start up, isn't it?"

Tre took the paper from her, his eager eyes already scanning the headlines enscribed in his native tongue. "Yes—thank you so much, CJ. I couldn't find it this week."

She gave Tre a friendly wave and went back to Burnett. "What can I do for you?"

He sat down in her office chair with a sigh of relief, loosening his tie. "I was at a networking deal, some college thing, and I overheard someone talking about looking into the old Comstock property for a potential ground floor eatery. Upscale place, new western cuisine, new west decor, all that."

"Why the Comstock? The Prospector is a better location, better parking. Higher tenant upgrade allowance. You could undercut the Comstock by fifteen percent. Our client is dying to get that kind of place in there, if they've got a decent business plan."

"That's what I thought. But how do I approach the guy? He wasn't talking to me and I kind of crashed the event, not like I went to that school, I just knew…" He looked guilty.

"Out with it." CJ gave him a stern look.

"A guy who met with Jerry last week was on his way out of the meeting and I heard him on his cell talking about this get-together, how good it would be to get the alumni together, that sort of thing. And I thought this guy has got to have friends just like him, guys with growing businesses, and maybe I would just pick up a few names and I could cold call them later."

"That was a long shot." But not the worst thinking in the world. Burnett had a brain behind the liquid brown eyes.

"It's all a long shot until you get a couple of deals down. So I showed up in the bar where they were meeting ahead of their dinner, just kind of mingled and listened."

"This possible deal isn't Jerry's, is it?"

"No, no, that's the thing." Burnett leaned forward excitedly. "I just overheard one guy telling another about a friend's restaurant plan. I got the name of the friend—now my potential client— and he's one of the investors and the architect. The Prospector is perfect for them, and just what the owner wants, too. You've filled half that building on your own, so you seemed the person to ask."

No doubt about it, if she were Jerry, she'd steal the lead from the kid because she was going to end up doing a chunk of work advising him and he'd learn a whole lot in the process. She realized, then, why she felt a little protective, maybe. He pinged her gaydar, ever so gently.

"Tell you what. I'll take the co-commission but you have to do the work. I'll give you ideas on approach, proof your proposals, role-play negotiations, sit in if you want. But you're going to earn every penny of the lead's pay."

"I don't expect to do any less. Really." He was all puppy dog, a sweet kid who couldn't help the fact that he wore a sign on his back that said Wallet's in the left pocket, help yourself.

"You did a nice job getting the contact. So—don't waste any time. First thing you're going to do is study up on the guy via Intellidome."

"I already did that. Cray Westmore. Up-and-coming architect, he's done a few other restaurants. Finances look clean, no liens or court flings."

"Good. So send out a cold letter and packet on the Prospector. We'll tweak the cover page and aim it right at his favors-of-the-new-west restaurant. One of our architect designs has a sort of rawhide and Remington feel."

Scarcely thirty minutes later, Burnett set an impressive package and well-written cover letter on her desk. Relieved that she wasn't propping up someone who really ought to consider a different line of work, she made only a few changes. She would have to stop thinking about him as a puppy—he was quietly smart, the kind of guy who walked off with the big prize while the other men were measuring their penises.

With a social dinner on her calendar she dropped the papers off in his cubicle with a cheerful "Well done" and headed out for the day.

She was parking her car when she got a text message that the couple she was meeting was running late, but the restaurant was a casual, popular place that wouldn't hold the table, so she claimed the reservation. After a reassuring scan of the faces of customers who'd entered after her, she followed the server to an out-of-the-way table and ordered a likely-to-please bottle of wine along with a cheese and olives plate.

She'd met Raisa while working on a deal—what else—and had had dinner a couple of times with her and her partner, Devon. Raisa was trying to make partner at the biggest architectural firm in town and a social connection was useful, CJ had told herself. There'd been no reason to refuse the invitations to dinner and both were busy women, so invitations weren't that frequent. She wasn't used to socializing without a purpose beyond conversation and a good time, and it was odd not to be brushing up on notes and reminding herself of the client's spouse's name and favorite hobbies.

They were a pleasantly interesting couple and had always suggested she bring along a date, but as usual, she'd told Raisa she didn't really have time to be serious about anybody. They'd like Abby, no doubt about it, but bringing her to any kind of event with friends would be a kind of lie. Even if Abby occasionally thought the sex-only truth sucked, at least it was the truth.

She read through the community service information sheets she'd stuffed back into her purse. She had expected litter detail, but the organizations listed were places like Mile High Senior Services, Meals-on-Wheels and the like. She would have preferred trash patrol to real people.

She took a quick look in her compact, marveling that the mirror didn't reflect the cold-hearted bitch she really was. To be sure, she saw the near-black eyes that all the Rochambeau women shared, and if she stared into them too long it was Aunt Bitty staring back. A casual glance, though, merely revealed the façade of an expensively-coiffed businesswoman, which was exactly what she wanted the world to see. The only need she had for people was the money she could make off them. Burnett wasn't so much a nice guy she felt like helping, as he was a potentially useful ally. She dismissed again the memory of the icy fire in Karita's eyes and snapped the compact closed when she heard Devon's voice.

"Hey, girl." Raisa, in a snug, sea foam linen suit, had obviously just come from work.

Devon, a part-time teacher at the university and part-time artist, was splashy in an orange and yellow wrap only someone of her mixed Native American and Polynesian blood could wear so fetchingly. "Sorry we're late. Traffic was awful at the U."

CJ got up for a round of hugs, and wondered at Devon's cat-with-cream smile. She understood when she was introduced to Elaina, a colleague of Devon's from the university. Elaina was lovely in a very nice sweater dress that brought out her green eyes, but wasn't so eye-popping that it announced that she'd fussed. Her darting, shy glance conveyed that she was both nervous and so far not displeased at the sight of CJ. Raisa, of course, wouldn't meet the meaningful look that CJ directed at her.

As they took their seats around the crowded table, Devon said, "Elaina is one of the law professors."

"Correction." Elaina spoke with a clip to her words, reminding CJ of the accents in upstate New York, where she'd gone to college. "I teach business law to undergrads who are not going into law as a profession. The curriculum is so set that a monkey could teach it."

"I think you're incredibly modest," Devon said. She gave CJ a nudge under the table.

"I couldn't teach," CJ said quickly. "I admire anyone with the patience." She found herself answering the usual questions about her job, offering the standard evasions about where she'd grown up and urging everyone to please try the wine. She'd forgotten Devon didn't drink, but Raisa and Elaina were both grateful for a glass. By the time they'd settled on entrees, everyone seemed comfortable.

After ordering and surrendering her menu to the waiter, CJ realized that her community service materials were still sitting on the table. She began to gather them with a nonchalant air, but Raisa interrupted her.

"Okay, what did you do to get you community service, huh?"

Thanks for announcing it to the world, Raisa, CJ thought, another thing to appreciate about the evening. "I blew a stop sign, didn't even see it, almost hit somebody. I thought community service meant litter patrol, but these are social welfare groups. I could visit senior citizens." She pointed at the grouping of retirement communities.

Raisa's scan of the list stopped when she excitedly tapped one name with a fingertip. "I know this one—I was the on the board of a group that loaned them startup money. Beginnings Women's Shelter. Incredible woman runs it, totally committed to her cause. Even if it's just a few hours, I know Emily could use someone with a brain to help out. She squeaks a dollar farther than any group I know of, but she's not long on business sense."

Battered women…it was a subject CJ didn't want to know more about. She also didn't want to explain why she didn't want to go there, but Raisa would want an explanation. More wine, and quickly, she thought. Is this what having friends was all about? Suddenly you're accountable for your choices?

"Well," CJ finally said, "I'll have to give them a call then." It was easiest just to do it.

Elaina was nice, another nice woman, the world was full of nice women, CJ concluded. When Raisa excused herself to the restroom, CJ went with her, asking as soon as the door was closed, "What's with the fix up?"

"Devon is an unstoppable force when she decides to match-make. She's got a decent track record, too."

"But I'm not in the market. I'm really not the settling down kind. Elaina is very nice, don't get me wrong."

Raisa's voice rose over the stall separator. "Devon doesn't believe anyone isn't the settling down kind. I wasn't when she met me, after all."

It was hard to picture Raisa as anything but married to Devon. They were like two puzzle pieces with a perfect ft. "You dated a lot before her?"

"Not women. Lots of guys because I was straight and figured sooner or later I'd find a guy who could actually do that stuff I'd read about in Cosmo. Then I met Devon. My first fireworks, if you get my drift, and it's only gotten better."

"I'm really quite capable of acquiring my own fireworks. But I've scarcely the time to go shopping, you know?" She joined Raisa at the sinks, glancing at her in the mirror. "Elaina's very nice and I don't want to hurt her feelings."

"I told Devon this was a bad idea. She wants to go to some bistro after this for dessert."

Thankfully, CJ could tell the truth. "Sorry, but honestly, I need an early night. There's a meeting with a client at their site, before the construction crew arrives. The alarm goes off at six a.m."

They walked back to the table and were reclaiming their seats when Raisa said, "You do work too much."

"I know." CJ seized the opening. "I'm a workaholic. I really enjoy what I do. It's so nice to have a break once in a while, like tonight, with friends. It's a completely client-focused business, so I have days like tomorrow where I have to be up at sunrise and a networking meeting after dinner. That means it'll be nine p.m. before I can even think about the gym. After meals like this, the gym is essential." She smiled brightly, hoping she looked like the antithesis of good girlfriend material.

Her gaze slightly narrowed, Devon said, "I was hoping to convince you to try this new place I know that has a crème brulee to die for."

"I really can't, not tonight."

"I couldn't either." Elaina's smile was just a trifle forced. "I've got a department meeting in the morning too. Perhaps another time." She was looking at Devon when she said it, without a sidelong glance at CJ.

CJ turned a gusty sigh of relief into a cough. No follow-up date was sought by Elaina— workaholic or friends had done the trick, or Elaina had decided something didn't click, which was okay, too. Devon was easily the most disappointed person at the table.

Her early night was the better for the relaxing meal and a hot shower when she was safely home. She pushed away her concern that Raisa and Devon could get to know more about her over time, and there were questions she couldn't answer. It would be better if she claimed to be busy the next time they called— nothing had changed. She couldn't afford anyone getting close to her, even if it was only close enough to wonder why she might want to avoid a battered women's shelter.

After the highs and lows of the day, the honey of Chet Baker's trumpet in the quiet of her apartment was just what she needed. Out of habit she checked the parking lot from her window, then glanced out the back as she checked the heavy deadbolt. Another lost client annoyed her, especially when she was sure he'd been misled by the other broker.

She finished a cup of coffee as she idly studied her list of names and numbers. If she'd closed that deal she'd have had just about enough to take care of the next name on the list. It would have to wait another month at least. What she really needed to do was work some old clients and see if she could pick up a lead or two.

She hadn't yet asked herself what she would do when the list in her hand was completely marked through. She was good at real estate and maybe she'd stick with it, now that she was licensed. She liked Denver-for what that was worth to someone who might have to run for her life at a moment's notice. So far, she'd not seen a hint of anyone looking for her, but she had to remain vigilant. She might be able to stay here, when she'd finished with the list, but such decisions were two years off, at least. There was nothing in this apartment that she wouldn't easily walk away from, she told herself. That was the point of her lack of a social life, why she couldn't really afford Raisa and Devon as friends, the point of her honesty with Abby She could leave it all behind. That is, everything but the list. It would go with her until she was done with everybody on it.

She was about to call it a night when she remembered the stupid community service papers. Expecting to get an answering machine or recording that gave the time she should call back in the morning, she was startled when a real person answered the phone with a brisk, "Beginnings. How can I help you?"

"Oh, hi. I'm not sure if this is the right time—"

The voice deepened. "It's okay. Do you need help right now?"

"No, I'm calling because I have to do community service."

"Oh. Cool. Okay, can you be here tomorrow night?"

"I guess. I have a business dinner until about eight."

"Nine is fine. It's Friday night."

Was that supposed to mean something to her? "Nine it is.

Where are you located? It just says Denver Metro area on the paperwork."

"We're in Lakewood."

The voice, taking on a harried quality, quickly related the address and a few general directions. "That's confidential, so I'd appreciate you keeping it to yourself. We do our darnedest to make it hard for batterers to figure out where the women they're beating have disappeared to."

"I get that," CJ said. She spelled her name when asked for it, then added, "Tomorrow night, then."

Strangely agitated by the phone call, she pushed the laundry basket out of the way and got down on her stomach so she could open her safe. Wedged into the back of her closet, it wasn't something anyone could casually pick up and carry away. Spinning the dial with the ease of long practice, she opened the door and caught the bundles that immediately spilled out.

Twenty fifty-dollar bills neatly wrapped. Seven stacks of five bundles each and an eighth stack of four—thirty-nine thousand dollars. Tomorrow when she went to the bank she'd have an even forty. If her checks were what she hoped over the next month, she'd have at least forty-two-five, and that would take care of the third to last name.

It was calming and reassuring to restack the money in the safe. She had to move the gun twice, but finally everything ft. She shoved the door closed and spun the dial several times.

Turning off lights as she headed for bed, she conceded that at that moment it might have been nice to have Abby near, to curl close to the warmth of contact. She shouldn't have let Raisa see the papers, and shouldn't have agreed to any time in a women's shelter. She'd just have to grit her teeth and survive it. It would be a piece of cake compared to other places where she'd been required to spend her time.

She left the music on and willed herself to sleep.

Her dreams were disturbed with the memories of breaking glass, hoarse shouts and grunts of anger and pain.

In the morning the past felt closer than it had in years. She examined the circles under her eyes and considered the long day and even longer night ahead.

"You should have just paid the money," she told her refection. "Nothing good is going to come of it."

Дата добавления: 2015-09-04